Unspoken
by Blaze 420
Summary: A love that can last a lifetime takes only a second to come about. These are the seconds that led to Carlos Shepard and Miranda Lawson falling in love. Kmeme fill, prompt inside.


**This is the remastered version of a kink meme fill I did and my first attempt at a love scene.  
It's been edited to tidy up the syntax and grammatical errors as well as include references to the Citadel DLC.**

**Anyway here's the prompt:**

_I'm sick, and that always makes me philisophical._

_Ancient Greeks had four words for love, each representing a different aspect of it.  
Storge was the love of one's family.  
Philia, which was deep friendship, brotherly love.  
Eros...I don't need to explain right? Sex.  
And then there was Agape. In modern greek this is what is translated as love. Back then it was the big one. All encompassing, all forgiving. The forever kind, the let's grow old and die together kind. Love of the soul._

_Ancient philosopher__s wrote many a word regarding these four concepts, sometimes adding subtypes to those loves._

_I've always been fascinated by these distinctions, I thought them beautiful and meaningful, hen philosophy, in general, doesn't really pique my interest._

_Long prompt is long. Sorry._

_What I'd love is to see two characters exploring these concepts of love in their relationship. I'm leaving it as vague as I can on purpose, because the subject matter is pretty vague. I've done my share of contemplating this, and would love to see what other people think._

_If anyone decides on writing it, I'd just like to say I'd prefer not to see Liara as half of the couple as I'm not too fond of her and there are plenty of fics with her already.  
Sorry._

_What I would absolutely adore, however, is a rare pairing of any sort._

**Rated M for the Eros part.**

* * *

_Storge_

I watch you, watch her as tears threaten to cloud your vision.

Strength. Confidence. Conviction. All these traits I attribute to you but right now as you tell me that it's not about what you want it's about what's best for her, these things I associate with you are present in your voice but lacking in the longing gaze you cast over her.  
So your protests ring hollow.

The heat my scars radiate cool when I tell you to go to her; the crimson haze which covers my once brown irises dissipating slightly.  
This is the most empathy I can muster. And why I offer it to you, I have no idea. I don't even like you.

You look at me. I nod.

You study my features looking for an ulterior motive. There is none. I guess it is simply that you deprive yourself of something I never had. Family. Purpose. Love.

Finally you concede. Breathing deep before you take your first tentative steps toward her, the swagger which usually accompanies your every step replaced with something else.

Hesitancy? Nervousness?

I shake off the thought. The notion that you would feel such things seems silly.

Then you have to go and prove me wrong.  
I watch the initial exchanges between the two of you. They're as forced and awkward as the conversations we attempt to have.  
Then the words begin to flow freely and I hear something I can only describe as divine: your laugh.  
You don't do it enough. At all in fact. Then again, neither do I.

You look peaceful. Complete. As I imagine I would if I had a mother to kiss my bruises. An older brother to watch over me. A father to teach me to be a man. Fuck I would have settled for someone who could have led me away from the violent life I chose to lead.

I'm jealous of you. You have something I don't. Something I lost on Horizon. You have something worth fighting for.

* * *

_Philia_

You thanked me. You smiled at me. Just when I begin to think of you as someone not worth my time you show me you are. And the image has burned itself into my mind.

So when everyone's problems become too much for me to handle I stumble into your room knowing that it's neither comfort nor solace you offer but respite. That's all I need right now.

Like one of the few people I can count as friends your door is open and a vacant spot is left for me on your couch.

You tell me you're sorry. I never hear that.  
You tell me your people can use me. Everyone says that.

Then you show me something else. You show me you. You show me the woman hiding behind those walls of ice.  
Her doubts. Her insecurities. Her humanity.  
And all I can do is tease you.

I call you jealous because we both know it's true.  
You object then tell me I'm perfect. If only because a cute little frown etches itself in your brow when you get flustered, I agree.  
You tell me I'm cocky. You tell me you do damn good work. You glare at me but it is half hearted. Those eyes of yours are studying me but not in the manner that they were when last your cobalt irises fell on me this way.

You seek reasons why there is heat between us. I wonder when you became so beautiful.  
But before either of us can figure it out our lips are inexplicably drawn together, tongues clashing to find a way down the others throat before the need for air pries our mouths apart.

A rare smile has found it's way onto my lips. You on the other hand look exasperated.

So much for friends.

* * *

_Eros_

I had to catch my breath when I caught sight of you standing there, arms folded under your breasts looking every bit the angel I remember. My angel.

I watch your mouth move, heartfelt anguish seeps through the pores of your pale skin and guilt weighs down your expression yet the words you speak are but inaudible static, even in the silence of this apartment.  
All I hear is your lips taunting me with their peach coloured fullness, daring me to claim them as you lay your soul bare.

But out of respect I ignore the jibes and let you purge your conscience, until finally they become too much.  
It has been six months since I last had a moment alone with you. Three weeks since I last saw you face to face. So when your lips beckon me to capture them I can't help but oblige. There is lost time to be made up.

You try to push me away but unlike the tone with which you had been speaking there is no conviction in the pressure you exert upon my chest so when our tongues intertwine, for once you don't fight. You let it happen.

This isn't the struggle for dominance of times past but a passionate melding of lip and tongue. There is none of the desperation and lust that led us to the Normandy's bowels just the sweet surrender of two lovers succumbing to the throes of passion, pure and unbridled.

My hands seek to free you from your fabric constraints, slipping them from the rolling contours of your voluptuous form, fingers following your zipper over mountainous breasts, tracing the lean muscle of your abdomen; lips blazing a warm trail of kisses along your jawline and the sweep of your neck; every part of me collecting every detail of you so that it may coalesce into the perfect memory of you, my angel. Rainha de meu coracao.

So when I feel you, feeling me the same way I felt you, I lean into your touch so that you may feel everything I refuse to show to anyone else. My desire. My fears. My affection. My weakness.

I lay you down, casting aside the brave mask I wear when I charge head first into battle so that it may lie somewhere among the mess of garments strewn across the floor.  
For you I am not The Butcher of Torfan. I am not the Saviour of the Galaxy. I am simply Carlos.

I am the man who wants you to feel wanted when my fingers slip between your shapely thighs, pressing tenderly upon that spot which makes your body slither atop sheets like a snake over desert sand.

I am the man who wants you to feel needed when my tongue follows suit, lashing that same spot over and over until your legs become feathers flailing helplessly in a frenzied whirlwind and limb stiffening ecstasy consumes your every muscle.

I am the man who wants you to feel loved in a way that he could never put into words simply because I'm not that kind of guy, your not that kind of girl and ours isn't that kind of love.  
Ours is a different kind of love. An unspoken kind of love. The kind of love where declarations of affection are not made with long winded rambling but as they are being made now: with deft flips of my tongue inside your womanly crevice, each flick provoking bouts of wildly bucking hips and flowing juices.

I hear the shallow heaves with which you drew breath degenerate into ragged panting every time I softly touch that spot over and over; a sheen of perspiration enveloping your curves as I trace circles around your clitoris and gently massage your inner walls all while getting drunk off your nectar.

It's been six months since we last had a moment together and still nothing tickles my sweet tooth quite like you.

I know you've had sex. Been fucked. Banged. Screwed.  
But when I climb atop and push into you, I see the far off, reverent nature of your gaze as those eyes of yours fall upon me and I know that no man has made love to you before. This is me rectifying their mistake.

I push again, once more hitting that spot which leaves you grasping handfuls of sheets between your slender fingers.

More thrusts follow, each harder and faster. Pleasure contorts your expression, artificial sunlight shimmering across your sweat soaked body; the sensuous friction of bare skin against me eliciting a pressure in my abdomen that asserts itself forcefully, building and building as we compose a lustful symphony of squeaking springs, fevered gasps and baritone grunts until finally, finally it climaxes into a roaring crescendo that ends with me covered in you and both of us catching our breaths.

Those ocean blue eyes return from the back of your skull I can't help but fall into them. Drown in them.

God you're beautiful.

You have no idea what you do to me and I have no idea how to tell you what you mean to me. So I can only hope that the soft smile which graces your lips means that you have felt everything I could never bring myself to tell you aloud.

Thank you for trusting me.  
Thank you for believing in me.  
Thank you for loving me.

* * *

_Agape_

My lungs burn every time I fill them with air by the mouthful, a sharp pain encompassing my sternum with each breath.  
The taste of you that had lingered on my tongue long after we had parted was now mixed with an all too familiar flavour.  
Thick. Viscous. Copper like. It could only mean one thing. Blood.

I destroyed entire races. Doomed my home. Betrayed friends. Guilt should be prevalent in my mind yet all I can think of is you. Smiling at me. Eyes filled with the same euphoria I feel every time I allow myself to think of something other than war. Inevitably, that means you.

God you're beautiful.

If words ever felt like they were enough I would have told you every second of the day until you grew tired of my voice. I would have corrected you every time you put yourself down.

Cause you say you're not perfect. I say you are.  
You say you're the creation of an egotist. I say you're the vision of a higher power that the unerring hand of his science merely guided in making my goddess among men.  
You say your life means less than your sister's. I say it's worth more than mine.  
You promised to wait for me. I promised to find you. I lied and I'm sorry.

The agony which has beset me as the vigour which had spurred me onward comes gushing out the myriad wounds scattered about my battered body is nothing compared to the hurt I feel for lying to you.

As much as I love it, you deserve someone better than me watching you wake up.

My lids are growing heavy; a ceaseless beep ringing in my ears.  
Delirium has begun to haze my vision, turning the world around me into a muddle of blurry silhouettes amongst which the only things discernible are a splash of white interspersed with pink, a swathe of black and two crystalline specks of blue.  
I think I hear my name being called. It's probably a trick.

I try to move my legs again. Nothing. I'm not going anywhere.

Death is upon me, and with it comes serenity I could never find in life.

The odds were always against us yet we found a way to be together.  
Ours was a love that should have never been but became one of the few things I have worth fighting for.  
You became the only thing I have worth dying for.  
And believe me, you are worth it. Saving the galaxy was the least I could do for you.

God you're beautiful.

Thinking of you causes a smile to tug at the corners of my mouth.  
Darkness is overcoming my eyes and I haven't the strength to fend it off this time. It shouldn't be too long now.  
I wish that faint pressure on my arm were you. That way you could be here when I allow four words I could never bring myself to say aloud to finally pass my cracked lips in a hoarse rasp: "Miranda...I love you."

* * *

**A/N: 'Rainha da meu Coracao' is Portuguese for Queen of My Heart.  
For those wondering, Carlos is Brazilian.**

**Thanks for reading. Peace.**


End file.
